Non-fluffy Advent fic, parts 3,4,5,6.
Dec. 6th, 2013 04:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmyI hope today's offering(s) make up for Harry being an idiot the past few days without posts!
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~2,300
Rating: Probably will be R or NC-17 overall.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
<< Part 2
(3, 4, 5, 6.)
“So, how are you?” Hermione was perched on the edge of one the fireside armchairs in her office. Behind her neat stacks of scrolls and parchment towered on her desk, but she had put them all aside when Harry had appeared, hair unkempt and asking to talk.
Hermione leant forward to pour out coffee for the two of them. Harry would rather have had tea, but he didn’t say anything. Coffee at this moment seemed too rich, the scent too deep. He took his mug with a tight smile, and added two sugars from the bowl. Hermione raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Fine. Well, not fine. I don’t know. Tired mainly,” said Harry. “It’s busy at work.” Hermione nodded, and Harry didn’t say that although it was busy, he obviously wasn’t there. He had spent too much time staring into the distance, think about that box of memories. Harry drank some coffee, all bitter and sweet. He had snuck away from work to see her so that they could talk in peace and quiet, but now he was here, he didn’t know where to start. “Um, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Curious as to why you’re here.” Hermione sat back in her armchair, and took a sip of coffee.
Harry wrapped his hands around his own almost too-hot cup. He wanted this, he wanted her to push. They both knew that Harry didn’t pop in to see Hermione while she was working. Harry found though, that he couldn’t find the words to explain any of it.
“How’s Draco?”
“Nights. He’s doing nights. I haven’t seen him since Monday.”
She sighed. “I know what that’s like.”
Harry gave her a weak smile, and tried not to think about how he’d given the go ahead for Ron to be on the stakeout team for the Hampshire case over the weekend. He tried to focus. Draco. She wanted to know about Draco. That was, after all, why he had come to see her.
“I… it’s complicated.” Harry took a sip of his coffee. “Do you remember how it was, when the war was over and we could start looking forward again?” Hermione nodded, but didn’t say anything. Harry took a deep breath. “Well Draco seems to want to look back. And I… I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”
“Are things… ok, between you two?” asked Hermione. Harry shivered at her question. He honestly didn’t know what was happening between him and Draco. Setting his coffee aside, Harry pushed his glasses half off so that he could press a hand to his eyes. After a moment, he righted his glasses and looked back at Hermione.
“I don’t know. Maybe not.” He let out a long breath. “He gave me this box of memories, and a bloody gilt-embossed marble monstrosity of a Malfoy Pensieve. I’m supposed to watch a memory a day. It’s some kind of advent.”
“Supposed to?”
“I haven’t looked at it since Monday. I just… I don’t see why either of us should be raking over the past when we’ve got enough to sort out already.”
“I see,” Hermione said. She drank her coffee, her eyes slightly narrowed as she thought. “So he’s extracted… how many memories?”
“Twenty-four. Like a Christmas advent.”
“And borrowed or taken a Pensieve from the Manor?”
“Yes.”
Hermione didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry. He went to drink more of his coffee, but his mug was empty.
“Why would he do all that? What do you think?” Hermione spoke so gently, that he knew she wasn’t puzzled: she just wanted him to think about her questions. It was like watching a dog herd sheep, or a spell being cast, diverting all attention in one direction.
“I don’t know. He… he wants to show me something. Wants me to see something. I just don’t know what.” Harry said. “I’m scared about what it might be. What if it’s goodbye?”
“Isn’t this a bit of a long-winded way of doing that, Harry? I think you have to trust him on this.”
“I know.”
“There’s only one way you can find out what he wants you to see, you know that, right? He must have gone to a lot of trouble to organise this. And knowing Draco, he’s put a lot of thought into which memories he’s chosen.”
Harry groaned, and hid his face in his hands. “I have to go home and watch the bloody memories, don’t I?”
“You knew that’s what I’d tell you,” said Hermione. She was right. He hadn’t come here to hide, at all. He’d come here for the kick up the behind he needed to face Draco’s memories. Harry kept quiet as she poured them both more coffee, and smiled as she shook her head as she pushed the sugar bowl in his direction.
3, 4, 5, 6.
He pulled his head free from the Pensieve, and closed his eyes. He felt twenty again, and touched his hand to his cheek, in the newly-discovered memory of the first, tentative time he had felt Draco’s fingers, deliberately trailing across his skin. It was overwhelming, watching these memories one after the other. Harry wished that he hadn’t been so stubborn in his refusal to watch before: this would definitely have worked better as one a day. At the same time, it wasn’t a bad feeling, and he sank back into the sofa and closed his eyes.
He remembered well their first, chance, meeting; Draco’s memories merely added another layer to his own. Borough Market had been busy, with low striped awnings fluttering in the spring breeze. Harry’s bag was already filled with the kind of foods he’d never had as a child: olives and preserves, fiery chillies and cold-pressed juices. He was tasting cheese at a stall when he was jostled from behind. Turning to apologise, the words had dies on his lips as he had realised that it was Draco Malfoy who had bumped into him. The surprise of seeing him in the busy market filled with strangers – in Muggle clothes no less, and with close-cropped hair – had left him blinking and bumbling. Watching in the Pensieve, Harry winced slightly at how clumsily he had spoken to Draco. At the same time he could see too how Draco’s eye’s had widened, the slight pinking of his cheeks, and his nervousness around Harry.
He had many other memories of course, of all the times they had visited markets to buy cheese, and honey and whatever else they fancied. Except they hadn’t been in a while, had they?
After he’d seen Draco that first time, Harry hadn’t been able to get him out of his head, questions multiplying until it became an itch; Harry would lie awake at night, going through all the possible lives Malfoy could be living. In the end, he had begun to ask around – covertly, he’d thought at the time, but according to Ron apparently not so – and he’d managed to track Malfoy down to an area of Muggle London he’d never seen before.
Harry had visited every pub in the narrow streets of former warehouses, down by the river in the hopes of bumping into Draco again, before he found him. The next memory Draco had selected – in the phial marked ‘4’ – was of this ‘chance’ meeting. Watching Draco – no, Malfoy – sitting quietly with his drink, chatting a little to the barman, Harry smiled. He’d never seen this part of the evening before. Malfoy looked as though he was thinking about all the problems of the world. It was clear to see, now that he knew him so much better, that he had been completely thrown by the sight of Harry, pint in hand and smiling as he approached. Malfoy’s squawked ‘Bloody hell,’ was endearing, and a sign of real shock.
“What are you doing here, Potter?”
“Just having a drink,” said Harry, caught between embarrassment at his pursuing Malfoy like this, and the rush of pleasure at having found him.
“Well there’s plenty of space in here, go find someone else to bother.”
“What if I want to bother you?” Harry said, watching as Malfoy’s eyebrows raised at the suggestion. Neither said anything, both taking nervous sips of their drinks instead.
“Well if you’re not going to move, I guess that I better get this out of the way.” Malfoy took a deep drink from his glass before continuing. “Thank you,” said Malfoy, flushing, his pale hair sharply contrasted against his skin. “I mean, for, you know….”
“Yes, well,” said Harry. “You don’t have to say– that is, I know. I mean, after the trials….” He sighed. “Can we just leave it in the past? I’m sick of talking about it all. It’s all anyone ever asks me about.” He looked up, remembering that it was Malfoy who had brought it up. “That is, no offence, I mean—”
“For all you’re the darling of the wizar—” Malfoy broke off and glanced around him at the Muggles sitting nearby “—the press, you are still an incoherent mess, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never claimed to be anything else.”
Somehow, and Harry didn’t quite understand how, they were both smiling at each other. Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing, and Harry winced at how badly he’d messed up asking after Lucius and Narcissa. But yet they still got to the point of promising to owl and meet up again.
Harry had pulled out of this memory and got the next one out straight away. He wanted to remember all this again: these were memories he didn’t mind reliving.
The river was murky, a rippling brown flow that still managed to make London look wide, open, the buildings and bridges inconsequential beneath the cloudy sky.
They walked. There had been a plan to visit something Muggle, but in the end, they just walked. Harry drank in the sight of the details he had been too nervous to notice the first time. He saw the way Malfoy swallowed before speaking. He saw the near-touches of their hands, and the way a blush spread across his own cheeks when Malfoy caught him glancing over.
Harry stopped before he reached for the sixth memory. It ached, to relive the past in this way. Everything had been so innocent, so full of hope back then. He sat back and ran his hands through his hair. He felt it again, the thudding in his chest at the sight of Malfoy, the way he’d let himself be pulled along by curiosity and… well, by lust. Only now it was all tangled up by years and arguments and he wasn’t innocent anymore.
And yet… Harry smiled. He wanted to see which memory Draco had picked next.
The restaurant was dimly lit, and the food sparse on the plates. Harry had picked the fanciest place he could think of, but by the end of the meal he was still hungry. When he saw the restaurant swim into focus in the Pensieve, at first Harry thought that Draco had selected a memory from the end of the meal. Malfoy had leant forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, suggested that they go for fish and chips. It had been the moment when Harry had realised that perhaps there could be more to this than the sparks of desire that had leapt up every time they accidentally touched.
But Draco had selected a memory from the meal itself.
The food on the plates was artfully presented, with fine tendrils of green balancing atop a paper-thin crisp circle, under which soft, perfectly-cooked cubes of sea bass sat. It all looked beautiful, with elegant swirls of a rich sauce travelling from the centre of the plate out. Beautiful, but such a tiny portion.
“A perfect mouthful,” Malfoy said, and both Harrys blushed at his words and the way his mouth had wrapped around them in unmistakeable suggestion.
When Harry had cracked through the top layer and scooped up the fish below, he hesitated before putting it in his mouth. He had thought that with the distraction of Malfoy sitting opposite, his lips pink and his teeth white as he ate through his own fragrant rainbow of salad, the meal itself would be tasteless. It seemed such a waste. But then he brought it to his lips, and Harry watched as his younger face transformed when his mouth exploded in taste. His eyelids lowered, his eyes half-shuttered, while his mouth fell slack before closing and chewing. Harry had only remembered the taste, but now he could see Malfoy, too, leaning forward, appreciating Harry’s moment of… well, he recognised that look. But it was the first time Malfoy had seen it.
A smear of the sauce spilled from Harry’s mouth, glistening in the candlelight. Malfoy wiped it away, while Harry watched his eyes.
Sitting on the sofa, the Pensieve beside him, Harry tried to make sense of all the memories he had seen. He touched his hand to his face again. He’d forgotten this moment, but Draco obviously hadn’t. Malfoy’s hand had trembled as it had touched the edge of his mouth.
For the first time in a long time, Harry wished that Draco wasn’t working nights. He needed to see him. He wanted to remember this with him. Instead, he settled down to watch the memories again.
>>Part 7
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~2,300
Rating: Probably will be R or NC-17 overall.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
<< Part 2
(3, 4, 5, 6.)
“So, how are you?” Hermione was perched on the edge of one the fireside armchairs in her office. Behind her neat stacks of scrolls and parchment towered on her desk, but she had put them all aside when Harry had appeared, hair unkempt and asking to talk.
Hermione leant forward to pour out coffee for the two of them. Harry would rather have had tea, but he didn’t say anything. Coffee at this moment seemed too rich, the scent too deep. He took his mug with a tight smile, and added two sugars from the bowl. Hermione raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Fine. Well, not fine. I don’t know. Tired mainly,” said Harry. “It’s busy at work.” Hermione nodded, and Harry didn’t say that although it was busy, he obviously wasn’t there. He had spent too much time staring into the distance, think about that box of memories. Harry drank some coffee, all bitter and sweet. He had snuck away from work to see her so that they could talk in peace and quiet, but now he was here, he didn’t know where to start. “Um, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Curious as to why you’re here.” Hermione sat back in her armchair, and took a sip of coffee.
Harry wrapped his hands around his own almost too-hot cup. He wanted this, he wanted her to push. They both knew that Harry didn’t pop in to see Hermione while she was working. Harry found though, that he couldn’t find the words to explain any of it.
“How’s Draco?”
“Nights. He’s doing nights. I haven’t seen him since Monday.”
She sighed. “I know what that’s like.”
Harry gave her a weak smile, and tried not to think about how he’d given the go ahead for Ron to be on the stakeout team for the Hampshire case over the weekend. He tried to focus. Draco. She wanted to know about Draco. That was, after all, why he had come to see her.
“I… it’s complicated.” Harry took a sip of his coffee. “Do you remember how it was, when the war was over and we could start looking forward again?” Hermione nodded, but didn’t say anything. Harry took a deep breath. “Well Draco seems to want to look back. And I… I don’t know if that’s what I want to do.”
“Are things… ok, between you two?” asked Hermione. Harry shivered at her question. He honestly didn’t know what was happening between him and Draco. Setting his coffee aside, Harry pushed his glasses half off so that he could press a hand to his eyes. After a moment, he righted his glasses and looked back at Hermione.
“I don’t know. Maybe not.” He let out a long breath. “He gave me this box of memories, and a bloody gilt-embossed marble monstrosity of a Malfoy Pensieve. I’m supposed to watch a memory a day. It’s some kind of advent.”
“Supposed to?”
“I haven’t looked at it since Monday. I just… I don’t see why either of us should be raking over the past when we’ve got enough to sort out already.”
“I see,” Hermione said. She drank her coffee, her eyes slightly narrowed as she thought. “So he’s extracted… how many memories?”
“Twenty-four. Like a Christmas advent.”
“And borrowed or taken a Pensieve from the Manor?”
“Yes.”
Hermione didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry. He went to drink more of his coffee, but his mug was empty.
“Why would he do all that? What do you think?” Hermione spoke so gently, that he knew she wasn’t puzzled: she just wanted him to think about her questions. It was like watching a dog herd sheep, or a spell being cast, diverting all attention in one direction.
“I don’t know. He… he wants to show me something. Wants me to see something. I just don’t know what.” Harry said. “I’m scared about what it might be. What if it’s goodbye?”
“Isn’t this a bit of a long-winded way of doing that, Harry? I think you have to trust him on this.”
“I know.”
“There’s only one way you can find out what he wants you to see, you know that, right? He must have gone to a lot of trouble to organise this. And knowing Draco, he’s put a lot of thought into which memories he’s chosen.”
Harry groaned, and hid his face in his hands. “I have to go home and watch the bloody memories, don’t I?”
“You knew that’s what I’d tell you,” said Hermione. She was right. He hadn’t come here to hide, at all. He’d come here for the kick up the behind he needed to face Draco’s memories. Harry kept quiet as she poured them both more coffee, and smiled as she shook her head as she pushed the sugar bowl in his direction.
3, 4, 5, 6.
He pulled his head free from the Pensieve, and closed his eyes. He felt twenty again, and touched his hand to his cheek, in the newly-discovered memory of the first, tentative time he had felt Draco’s fingers, deliberately trailing across his skin. It was overwhelming, watching these memories one after the other. Harry wished that he hadn’t been so stubborn in his refusal to watch before: this would definitely have worked better as one a day. At the same time, it wasn’t a bad feeling, and he sank back into the sofa and closed his eyes.
He remembered well their first, chance, meeting; Draco’s memories merely added another layer to his own. Borough Market had been busy, with low striped awnings fluttering in the spring breeze. Harry’s bag was already filled with the kind of foods he’d never had as a child: olives and preserves, fiery chillies and cold-pressed juices. He was tasting cheese at a stall when he was jostled from behind. Turning to apologise, the words had dies on his lips as he had realised that it was Draco Malfoy who had bumped into him. The surprise of seeing him in the busy market filled with strangers – in Muggle clothes no less, and with close-cropped hair – had left him blinking and bumbling. Watching in the Pensieve, Harry winced slightly at how clumsily he had spoken to Draco. At the same time he could see too how Draco’s eye’s had widened, the slight pinking of his cheeks, and his nervousness around Harry.
He had many other memories of course, of all the times they had visited markets to buy cheese, and honey and whatever else they fancied. Except they hadn’t been in a while, had they?
After he’d seen Draco that first time, Harry hadn’t been able to get him out of his head, questions multiplying until it became an itch; Harry would lie awake at night, going through all the possible lives Malfoy could be living. In the end, he had begun to ask around – covertly, he’d thought at the time, but according to Ron apparently not so – and he’d managed to track Malfoy down to an area of Muggle London he’d never seen before.
Harry had visited every pub in the narrow streets of former warehouses, down by the river in the hopes of bumping into Draco again, before he found him. The next memory Draco had selected – in the phial marked ‘4’ – was of this ‘chance’ meeting. Watching Draco – no, Malfoy – sitting quietly with his drink, chatting a little to the barman, Harry smiled. He’d never seen this part of the evening before. Malfoy looked as though he was thinking about all the problems of the world. It was clear to see, now that he knew him so much better, that he had been completely thrown by the sight of Harry, pint in hand and smiling as he approached. Malfoy’s squawked ‘Bloody hell,’ was endearing, and a sign of real shock.
“What are you doing here, Potter?”
“Just having a drink,” said Harry, caught between embarrassment at his pursuing Malfoy like this, and the rush of pleasure at having found him.
“Well there’s plenty of space in here, go find someone else to bother.”
“What if I want to bother you?” Harry said, watching as Malfoy’s eyebrows raised at the suggestion. Neither said anything, both taking nervous sips of their drinks instead.
“Well if you’re not going to move, I guess that I better get this out of the way.” Malfoy took a deep drink from his glass before continuing. “Thank you,” said Malfoy, flushing, his pale hair sharply contrasted against his skin. “I mean, for, you know….”
“Yes, well,” said Harry. “You don’t have to say– that is, I know. I mean, after the trials….” He sighed. “Can we just leave it in the past? I’m sick of talking about it all. It’s all anyone ever asks me about.” He looked up, remembering that it was Malfoy who had brought it up. “That is, no offence, I mean—”
“For all you’re the darling of the wizar—” Malfoy broke off and glanced around him at the Muggles sitting nearby “—the press, you are still an incoherent mess, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never claimed to be anything else.”
Somehow, and Harry didn’t quite understand how, they were both smiling at each other. Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing, and Harry winced at how badly he’d messed up asking after Lucius and Narcissa. But yet they still got to the point of promising to owl and meet up again.
Harry had pulled out of this memory and got the next one out straight away. He wanted to remember all this again: these were memories he didn’t mind reliving.
The river was murky, a rippling brown flow that still managed to make London look wide, open, the buildings and bridges inconsequential beneath the cloudy sky.
They walked. There had been a plan to visit something Muggle, but in the end, they just walked. Harry drank in the sight of the details he had been too nervous to notice the first time. He saw the way Malfoy swallowed before speaking. He saw the near-touches of their hands, and the way a blush spread across his own cheeks when Malfoy caught him glancing over.
Harry stopped before he reached for the sixth memory. It ached, to relive the past in this way. Everything had been so innocent, so full of hope back then. He sat back and ran his hands through his hair. He felt it again, the thudding in his chest at the sight of Malfoy, the way he’d let himself be pulled along by curiosity and… well, by lust. Only now it was all tangled up by years and arguments and he wasn’t innocent anymore.
And yet… Harry smiled. He wanted to see which memory Draco had picked next.
The restaurant was dimly lit, and the food sparse on the plates. Harry had picked the fanciest place he could think of, but by the end of the meal he was still hungry. When he saw the restaurant swim into focus in the Pensieve, at first Harry thought that Draco had selected a memory from the end of the meal. Malfoy had leant forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, suggested that they go for fish and chips. It had been the moment when Harry had realised that perhaps there could be more to this than the sparks of desire that had leapt up every time they accidentally touched.
But Draco had selected a memory from the meal itself.
The food on the plates was artfully presented, with fine tendrils of green balancing atop a paper-thin crisp circle, under which soft, perfectly-cooked cubes of sea bass sat. It all looked beautiful, with elegant swirls of a rich sauce travelling from the centre of the plate out. Beautiful, but such a tiny portion.
“A perfect mouthful,” Malfoy said, and both Harrys blushed at his words and the way his mouth had wrapped around them in unmistakeable suggestion.
When Harry had cracked through the top layer and scooped up the fish below, he hesitated before putting it in his mouth. He had thought that with the distraction of Malfoy sitting opposite, his lips pink and his teeth white as he ate through his own fragrant rainbow of salad, the meal itself would be tasteless. It seemed such a waste. But then he brought it to his lips, and Harry watched as his younger face transformed when his mouth exploded in taste. His eyelids lowered, his eyes half-shuttered, while his mouth fell slack before closing and chewing. Harry had only remembered the taste, but now he could see Malfoy, too, leaning forward, appreciating Harry’s moment of… well, he recognised that look. But it was the first time Malfoy had seen it.
A smear of the sauce spilled from Harry’s mouth, glistening in the candlelight. Malfoy wiped it away, while Harry watched his eyes.
Sitting on the sofa, the Pensieve beside him, Harry tried to make sense of all the memories he had seen. He touched his hand to his face again. He’d forgotten this moment, but Draco obviously hadn’t. Malfoy’s hand had trembled as it had touched the edge of his mouth.
For the first time in a long time, Harry wished that Draco wasn’t working nights. He needed to see him. He wanted to remember this with him. Instead, he settled down to watch the memories again.
>>Part 7
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2013-12-06 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 08:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 08:31 pm (UTC)Chatting to you reminds me how much I enjoy your company -can't wait to see you next weekend. :)
no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 09:04 pm (UTC)ETA: yes looking forward to next weekend! It will be lovely to see you :-)
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Date: 2013-12-06 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 06:32 pm (UTC)So lovely. What Harry'd forgotten, but Draco still remembers. That just makes me teary...
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Date: 2013-12-06 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 07:01 pm (UTC)Because I'm certain there are things Harry remembers (even if he doesnt' think about) that Draco doesn't. He's just too wrapped up in the other stuff inside his head right now.
*thwaps him*
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Date: 2013-12-06 07:25 pm (UTC)Great job, Oms. :)
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Date: 2013-12-06 08:20 pm (UTC):D
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Date: 2013-12-06 07:50 pm (UTC)This feels like it is picking up speed! I am intrigued as to how it will develop through the rest of Advent.
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Date: 2013-12-06 08:21 pm (UTC)I also am intrigued with how this will develop! Er...
;)
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Date: 2013-12-06 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-06 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-09 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-11 08:56 pm (UTC)Loved the little details - Harry tracking down Draco, the meal, the touches that leave them both a little nervous. Lovely!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 09:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 01:31 am (UTC)"Can we just leave it in the past? I’m sick of talking about it all. It’s all anyone ever asks me about.” Oh, Harry!
Malfoy broke off and glanced around him at the Muggles sitting nearby “—the press, you are still an incoherent mess, aren’t you?” In my head canon, Harry's always a bit of a mess, over one thing or another. I love that Draco noticed it. :) I'm really enjoying this. Sort of picking it up between thesis breaks. I'm friending you so I can keep up with your other stuff, hope you don't mind.
no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 03:08 pm (UTC)